


Home with You

by PeppermintPalimpsest



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018), The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Gentle Kissing, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M, Men Crying, Misunderstandings, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, POV Achilles (Song of Achilles), POV Patroclus, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Smut, Thought Projection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintPalimpsest/pseuds/PeppermintPalimpsest
Summary: “Achilles-” He started, the words tumbling out before he had allowed them to fall - but they were caught. Achilles moved, closer and then suddenly - his lips were over his and the words were swallowed down whole.And he knew before it ended, that he had made the worst mistake of his life.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 145





	Home with You

**Author's Note:**

> First work in this fandom! I've fused these two universes - you should be able to read this without a problem, even if you've only played Hades or read SOA.
> 
> Thanks!

They had little need for a tent on days and nights like these. The sun sat high and swollen up against the hills beyond, sky scattered with wisps of white.

“Remain here until I come again,” Chiron had told them. His pack was full and slung over his bare shoulders. On his back he held more, cotton knotted in ropes containing his delicate herbs and other materials. His hooves gleamed against the pebbles of the bank, dressed in pine tar and trimmed with bronze. “I’ll return by the morrow.”

“May we not go back to the cave?” Achilles returned his gaze.

“If you must - but look,” and he pointed up at the sky. The moon was visible now, a bulb of pale gray peaking up from the ocean’s side. “It is but thrice a year these conditions are available. Take advantage of this if you can.”

And with this, he waved and left them to their fishing.

Patroclus found their glade, a glistening spot hidden among the trees. They had no fear of rain - summer had thoroughly soaked into into the earth. No chance, not for a near week now. Achilles followed behind, feet bare against the soft grasses.

They brought little. Fresh fruit from further down the valley, and dried hare. Warmer clothes for when the sun sank beneath the hills. Achilles spear wrapped in his sleeping gear, soft herbs for cleaning teeth, and chips of calked soap.

The glade was small. Here they’d rested before a hunt, trained or watched training with Master Chiron. Ate and cooked, drank when they had wine in early spring days. “Here tonight then,” Achilles murmured. When Patroclus turned to look, his face lifted, smile pulling at his eyes. “We’ll get to see the stars tonight.”

They placed their things around the tree they’d always sat at - pebbled and peppered with moss. Their food was brought along, as well as their fishing nets. Creatures of all kinds were brought out by the full moon - and the river denizens were no exception. _Take advantage_ , he had said - and they most certainly would.

*

Achilles groaned, rubbing at his eyes.

“This heat is going to bake my flesh.” His nose was already starting to pink, a scattered flush starting at his ears. Patroclus reached over, felt his neck with his hand. The boy was cooler than Pat, skin sticky with sweat.

“You aren’t feverish.” He said, pulling his hand back. Achilles huffed. “Persephone is in no hurry to return to the underworld this year.”

He himself - Patroclus rarely needed to worry about getting burned. His skin warmed and sparkled under the light. Grew richer in hue, perhaps, but he had no fear for the hot summer sun. Achilles on the other hand, reared and trained in the shade and under cool air - his body was unprepared for the wrath at this time of year.

Achilles pulled on his robe, wafting it about for air. “Too hot,” he muttered, and Patroclus had no reply.

He pealed off the top half of his robe, standing for a moment to tie it around his waist. His collar bones were the first to face the fresh sun, sharp cliffs of white jutting from his chest. Over the years they’d grown less and less so, his body stretching up along with his own. Further down, the cursive line of muscle beyond the slope of his ribs to the pit of his stomach. In the spring he’d lost all scrap of fat and replaced it with coils of hard muscle.

_Eat more_ , he’d said - more than once during the last winter. The boy was a year younger, a hairbreadth shorter and skinnier. With shorter days and nights confined to their smaller cave with Chiron, his appetite shrunk when Achilles still insisted on sharing. _You deserve a share, always_ , and Patroclus would take his at a glacial pace.

But the spring had been kind. His body had lengthened, ribs sinking beyond glossy milky skin. His muscles grew - no longer tight and sinew ridden but fuller and stronger. Arms thickened and became speckled with springtime freckles, scattered across the canvas of his back sculpted with practice.

What had become of their youth? Time pushed on and on, seasons pulling their bodies up from the earth. They were etched with memories, each year carved upon them like a map. Now - his power was evident in his pale figure. He turned for a moment, stomach shifting and tightening at the movement.

Still vulnerable to the sun.

Suddenly, the heat grew in his cheeks. Since when had he taken such an account of his friend’s body. The boy was no longer as youthful, a face fresh and aglow with manhood. Surely - nothing atypical to be found along the new freckles of his body, the facial hair budding at the slender cut of his jaw. A year younger, yet he held himself with the posture of a man who had already learned his lessons.

“I will not stop you.” Snorted Patroclus. “But Chiron will have little mercy for you if you’re unable to take training tomorrow because of sore peeling skin.”

His head threw back in laughter. “Gods, Pat!” And he moved, shifting closer. Arm thrown around his shoulder for a moment. Squeezing, fingers pressing against the skin of his shoulder. Their thighs were touching again. This touch - it wasn’t uncommon. They slept like this sometimes. Legs tossed over legs, a jumble of warm flesh while the world outside was frozen.

But here, the heat - the shape of his fingers was branded. The burning line of his leg rubbed slightly as Achilles bounced his foot on the sand. Their forms were close enough now that across the bank, Patroclus could see their shadows merge into one.

The removal had clearly brought Achilles some relief, and he resumed his fishing. He spoke on - but Patroclus found it difficult to recall on what. Achilles had released his hair while he was supposed to be listening, fidgeting away with the braid. The pale gold twisted beneath the boy’s fingers, curls loosening into the wind. Locks unfurled in the wind, bright strands glossy in the rays.

“Better now?” He muttered. Or would the man continue stripping? He was already half-naked, bare body horrendously ready to be burnt. What other harm could be done now?

Oh.

Achilles head turned. He could see the sweat, beaded down his forehead. It dripped, trickling down. A drop trailed his eyebrow, falling down his cheek. When they were this close, he could smell it. Him - the faint scent of clean skin, the herbs of his soaps. His sweat, that fresh acrid saccharine smell that clung to him.

On most other days, he’d have dabbed at his skin without a thought. Taken the cloth - rinsed in sweet river water - and pressed it to his brow.

But today…

Today.

This - this was a simple feeling. An instinctual one, and ancient awful realization deep within his gut. He was familiar with it - on the rare nights he dreamed his thoughts were not dominated by curves and soft flesh. They would unfurl with details, the tip of a nose pressed against his cheek. Heavy air, a hot breath against his neck. A knee pressed up against the hardening coil in him, the leg coarse with hair. Musk, sweat - and all his bitter bluster would come rushing forward. He’d awaken, cock hard and painful - the scent of his friend heavy in his nose.

He’d leave the cave, returning with a sheen in his eyes and a knot in his heart.

Achilles wouldn’t ask after the first time. There was a knowing here, one that came after years of companionship. Before they came to Chiron, Patroclus was rarely left to sleep alone. The few times he was, the boy would return in the morning - smelling of softer things that left Patroclus wondering what made him feel so empty.

What did his hands know? Not this body, nor any like it.

And Patroclus? He wouldn’t wish it. His heart beat in his throat, and he swallowed down. He had known he felt this. Long before it was given a form, long before it was given a name. Until now - until this became unavoidable - he had refused to look it head-on. This feeling - and his head ached as he thought - lust.

It was poison. It would kill him if he fed it.

But Achilles was turned towards him. Patroclus’s hands were tangled in his hair, fingers fumbling across braids. An eyebrow raised, and then softened. The whole of him tensed back, gently pulling in a breath. Pushing air into his lungs. Pulling air out.

Breathing.

And then he was closer - the hair falling from his hands. Achilles faced him completely, hands reaching up to his shoulders. “Pat.” He whispered, eyes widening. Within them, Patroclus saw flecks of brown. A smattering of darkness within the bright blue.

“Achilles-” He started, the words tumbling out before he had allowed them to fall - but they were caught. Achilles moved, closer and then suddenly - his lips were over his and the words were swallowed down whole.

Achilles was _kissing_ him.

And they were soft - softer than he had imagined. Imagined?- but now there was a hand on his cheek. Worn fingers running along hot skin, lips drawing him in closer. Chaste, then further - an uncertain slip of tongue against his bottom lip. Patroclus couldn’t move but to pull back - fingers reaching up to grip Achilles.

What was that in his eyes? That warmth, a comfort. Not disgust - no loathing in sight. Achilles looked at him, chest heaving with untaken breaths, fingers tight and yearning against his own. His eyes were bright, almost glassy.

“Pat,” and his voice emerged as a whisper. Patroclus’s stomach roiled, and there was no god or otherwise that could have stopped him now. It was inside him; that wild bucking animal that seethed and grit it’s teeth, grasping at his lungs and pulling at his tongue.

His mouth was taken in an instant, stealing the words from him. A muffled cry came from one of them, the other wrapped arms around him. His breath was caught in his lungs, and he gasped as Achilles pulled away.

Achilles - the boy before him was brighter than he’d been before. Blue eyes brimming with joy, lust dripping from the heave of his shoulders. Effervescent skin, glowing under Patroclus’s hands. They clutched at his waist, the boy half on top of him. His cloth had slipped further upwards, strong thighs pressed against his hip bones.

And further up, his fingers dared not move, a press of hard flesh against rough cloth.

“Stop,” the words came snarling out. Achilles’s touch - he’d not touched another like this ever - it was all too much and he was fighting back his alarm. His friend’s - he could barely say the words in his own head - was pressing up into his stomach, filling his gut with ice. This was all - his hips, his heat-

“Pat - gods I can’t-” he couldn’t help himself, the almost mournful pleasure across his face had him suddenly grinding back up against the prince. He hissed at the touch, nauseous pleasure furling within him. Patroclus needed to - he needed to stop him - he needed- and Achilles let out a half-choked cry, muffled against his shoulder. Fingers tightened at Patroclus’s chest, fabric rough and painful against softening skin. “Patroclus - oh Patroclus-”

Panic roiled up within him, sick in his belly. No, no - this wasn’t right. This was despicable; Achilles had no right taking an interest in a man such as himself. His heart was digesting in his chest, burning and eating itself. Not love, this was not love. He’d fooled himself, he had fooled Achilles - mere chance. As the elder he should have known, should have done more, should have stayed away and refused himself this poisonous pleasure.

When Achilles pulled back - his bare thigh dripped with wetness.

The world swayed underneath him. His hands released their heavy grip on Achilles shoulders, sudden ice flooding him. They immediately missed the touch of his skin, grasping and clenching at Patroclus’s sides. He was still hard, Achilles hands barely a breath away from his aching flesh. This was no better than forcing him. It was worse. It was a trick, little more than a moment of weakness he should have anticipated.

“Achilles-” he choked, unable to look up. “Achilles. You must get off of me.”

“Pat?” And now - there it was. A hollowness to his voice. His own fault, of course. Achilles was still on him, damp figure drooped over his. Hair dripping down his shoulder, brushing Pat’s bare shoulders. He felt the tears already, burning and bubbling beneath his cheeks. “Oh Patroclus - I…”

And what else was there to say?

He remained as still possible as Achilles removed himself. As he lifted his hips, warmth dripped onto his open thigh. Achilles immediately shuddered, jerking back.

“Pat-” he spluttered. “That’s -” a stuttered breath. “Patroclus, I am so - so sorry - please just-” his face - Patroclus could barely look for more than a second. But in a glance, he could already see the damage. His face was red, all splotchy and marked up to his ears and chest.

“Enough.”

A gurgle. Tears. His friend had started to _cry_. “I’m so sorry- allow me clean - I’m sorry, I’m sorry - I’m so sorry Patroclus-” his hands came closer, a desperate attempt to wipe the cum from his skin. It was much too close, far too close to his hardened flesh that he jerked away. Despite his tears, it throbbed beneath the cloth - still aching for shameful attention.

“Stop Achilles.” He tried, oh how he tried to be gentle with his words. But the hurt came anyways, eyes widening as hands froze before him. “That’s enough.”

“Oh-” and his tongue swiped at his lips in a nervous motion. “I’ve done something very wrong here haven’t I…” He was trembling - hands balled and white at the knuckles. Figure like a thin strip of flame, shuddering. “Patroclus - please just tell me what I can do to fix all this.”

“Fix?” Patroclus grit his teeth. Fix - this wasn’t fixable. He had violated his friend, used him without reason. Made him turn against his nature. He remembered him in the training yard. While other boys fought bare-chested - Achilles cast no glance upon their figures. The girls and women, however - he seemed to watch them with an awe and gleam to his eyes.“No - even from myself I should have protected you.” It burned, each word another hot coal upon his heart. He deserved it. He deserved anything the boy was willing to throw at him right now.

“Patroclus, no - no - no - you’re not- I’m sorry-”

“Stop trying to pardon me.” He had to interrupt. His friend, his companion was trying to spare his heart. Hold it in his hands, with no care for the barbs protruding into palms.

Oh - of course his touch had been nothing but lust. Achilles’s hands, smooth despite all else, would be his own. The touch of him would belong to another one day, and Patroclus should have hoped for it. He had ruined all that he held dear - all that existed in that solitary place within his mind was now tainted by his actions.

This was too much. He was crumbling under his friend’s shadow, shaking under his gaze. The pain inched into his bones, and he stood quick enough to see stars. “I need to go-” he barely got out. His friend was already too far. His legs were already taking him.

*

Rarely did Patroclus pick up a weapon. Perhaps as Achilles sparing partner - though he wasn’t even close to a match. Even when Achilles used a shorter spear - even when he used his weaker hand - Patroclus often found himself flat out on the grasses, spitting dirt.

The first time with Achilles - the first time they killed together he meant - was never meant to have happened. Typically, the woodland animals avoided their presence, scattering as their loud voices and their clumsy bodies made their way through the trees. This mountain bear in particular did not. It was hungry after a long winter, fur shrunk and thin-faced as they came across it.

They had seen it, muffled against the leaves. It noticed them before they noticed it. Achilles had not a second to scream before the beast came crashing down on Patroclus’s shoulders.

It was the way of animals. Sometimes they simply needed something else to die, and then they acted upon it.

In those moments, Patroclus wasn’t much more than an animal. He spoke the language they were speaking; met them their in violence. His knife dug through flesh - fur - fat - then out through the other side. It was heaved from him, trembling arms thrown around him. Achilles - his clothes, both their clothes - soaked in red. The man in his arms shook, words thick and voice thicker.

There were promises, threats - and in between the beat of his heart and the pull of his friend he found the pit in his gut had grown.

The bear had only been hungry, after all.

*

With eyes closed, he waits for his body to do the same.

When he arose, his face felt like a slip of leather. It was nothing like true sleep, filled with dread and the sickness that had made it’s hollow in his chest. His eyes felt like heavy, painful pits. He lay for perhaps an eon. Something changed, somewhere in the night - the discrete fall of a noise. The evening thrum of the insects dying down, older and ancient sounds taking their place.

Here, he was able to get up again. Legs aching, trembling under the push of ground. Before collapsing, he had climbed back up to the cave. Rarely were they alone in here. Never had it been this empty. Without Chiron - without his Achilles - the walls were darker and deeper. Curling up around him.

He’d barely made it up the steps before collapsing into the blankets. They were Achilles - he knew them by their smell, their taste as he rose up.

What he had done…

He pushed the blankets away. The cave pressed at his back, face towards the entrance above. Stars drifted across the sky there, a round slice of Nyx.

There was nothing for him here anymore. He knew that. Achilles would find him here, eventually when he gathered to courage to come back up the mountain. His friend would attempt to reason, to soften the hurt he’d made. His friend would bring himself, perhaps even the touch of him again to attempt to heal his heart.

He could not allow it.

Neither could he take the other possibility. His friend - the only good thing he had left in the world - bringing fury down upon him. For Patroclus’s own sake - not Achilles - he would take it. He would take it, because it was what he deserved. A part of him cried out for it. Not what he deserved, he thought. What he wanted.

Perhaps, if he lay here for long enough - the walls would swallow him entirely. Press in around him, hold him deeper within. His body would harden, calcifying and freezing in place. Sand in a clam shell. An ugly pearl of a boy. When he thawed, the insects would make their home in him. Why wake, when he would forever be slumbering in this deep dark cave?

Something pulled at his eyes. He was hearing something, a scuffling of feet near the mouth of the cave. In a moment, appeared the bright blond head of his companion. In another time, he might have stood - shouted a greeting and met him there.

Immediately, he scrambled back. A shadow descended upon his skin, his pale figure slicing out a piece of the sky. What could he have said, as his friend came closer? What could he had said - when Achilles feet came louder and louder down to resting place?

“Patroclus,” barely a whisper. Barely a sound - and he couldn’t help but look up now. The boy’s figure trembled - stars shivering around him where he stood upright. His hair slung over his shoulder, face masked in grief. His friend - Achilles sank down to his knees.

Met him where his body was. Achilles sat near - a breath out of reach. His hands dug at his forearms. A steady trickle of tears made his cheeks bright under starlight. It dripped at his chin. A wave of sorrow crested in him.

If another had hurt him so - what he would have done to that man…

Yet when it was him, he still wished to reach out. Brush away his tears - kiss them away if need be. Allow Achilles pain, take it inside himself instead.

Hypocrite.

But now, when he looked up - Achilles pressed himself down. Face against the cave floor, tears dripping against crystal and stone. “I’m sorry.” The words existed between sound and silence, gentle. It hit him, a piercing cry against his core.

“No- Achilles-”

“I’m so sorry-”

He couldn’t - his hands were coming up before he could stop them. Achilles would push him away later - now he needed to pull him up. This wasn’t his place - not prostrating before Patroclus as though he were beneath him. As though Achilles served him, rather than the other way around.

There was nothing - his friend shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not because of him, not because of anyone. Achilles looked at him, Pat’s hands at his cheeks. They were hot, sticky beneath his thumbs.

“I thought,” his voice burbled in his chest, caught and hooked on his pain. “I thought you wanted to-” and a fresh wave of tears came down. “I thought you wanted it too.”

“Don’t-” Patroclus shot out, wiping at his face. “Please, Achilles - I’m sorry.” Achilles froze in his grasp. “I should never have allowed that - I should never have touched you - I should never have hurt you the way I did-”

“Hurt me?” Choked Achilles. His hands came up. Tentatively, a forefinger pressed against his wrist. When he made to let go, Achilles held there. Damp palm against his forearm. “Hurt me - hurt me - Pat, I hurt you! You told me to stop - and I didn’t even bother to-”

“I forced you-”

“How?” Now the words were harder. “How Pat? How did you force me?”

“I made you-”

“ _I kissed you_.” Achilles muttered, mournful. Voice thick with tears. “I- I came against you while you were telling me to stop!” A buried sob crawled from his chest. “Please just stop Patroclus. I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Didn’t want to touch you like that - not without you wanting it.”

Wait.

“I did want it-”

“Don’t lie Patroclus-” he sobbed, voice cracking at the seams.

Suddenly, Pat pushed himself upwards. Blue eyes claimed his own. Now there were tears on his cheeks, and Achilles hands tightened on his forearms. “Look,” he said, warmth unbidden in him. Love unhidden, grit missing, heat and joy and hope and pain all rising and ready to collapse in on itself at a word. “Am I lying?”

His eyes widened. “Pat- I wanted you.”

“And I wanted you too.”

A moment. Then another. And then, with care in each movement - Achilles let go of his arms. He rebelled at the removal - but did nothing as Achilles drew himself back up. Tucked his knees underneath him. He rubbed at his eyes, and sighed deeply. “You…” he stopped himself, then continued. “You didn’t mind? Kissing me?”

The heat rose to his cheeks. After all - in the moment it had been - well, his body had done the speaking for him. “I didn’t mind at all.” He bit back a smile. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

“I thought you did.” Murmured Achilles. He wasn’t looking away. Still straight at him. Patroclus’s stomach crawled. Such a base thing, such a base desire. Yet his friend was looking at him - and it was nothing unclean. Nothing dirty - nothing broken. There was tenderness in his eyes, gentle and loving. “And when I… _well_.” He coughed. “I thought I completely ruined everything. Hurt you. You told me to stop-”

“I did. I didn’t want to debase you.” The eyes on him narrowed. “I felt... well, perhaps as though I were tricking you. Fooling you into treating me like those you prefer the company of.”

“N _othing_ ,” Cried Achilles, shaking his head. “Nothing like that - nothing we could do together could possibly debase us. Gods, _why_ would you think that of yourself Patroclus?” His hands lifted, then dropped to his sides. “And tricking me - you couldn’t _trick_ me into feeling the way I do about you.”

Patroclus let out a shaky breath. “But you - you have always... spent your time with women.”

“I wanted you, Pat! I swear it! I couldn’t possibly have spent the night with a man - all that could have done-” he shook his head again. “It would have reminded me of you. Reminded me of what I could never have.”

“Oh, Achilles.” Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. Split at his chin. “If you had asked - if only you had asked of me.” Fingers grasped at his, and he laced them tightly. “I would have given you everything.”

“I would like to - if you would still have me?” It was enough - that was enough. His smile bubbled over his lips, and Patroclus gave him a shaky uneven smile. In the dark, Achilles could press his fingers forward. Feel the curve of his lips against his fingers.

“Okay?”

“Yes.” He needed it. Needed to hear it was okay. Needed the question to be asked. A moment, a breath of warm air at his palm. A kiss, the barest brush of lips against his palms. Another - the caress of fingers before soft lips descended upon his knuckles.

And then they met again. Lips against lips. Neither attempted to deepen it - the air still hummed with stress and sweat. There was no gasp to swallow, not a tear to kiss away. Ever gentle, a hand came to his ear, brushed his thick curls back.

His heart beat in his chest - panic bubbling to a slow simmer. Achilles wasn’t going to push him - wasn’t even coming any closer. The man was acting of his own will. The tightening in his groin - Achilles came no closer to it, even if he did notice.

And when they pulled back - it was Achilles. All him, all his own choice.

Reaching out, a finger brushed at his. Tracing along his palm, across the softer creases and callouses. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” he nodded against his shoulder. They were cradled within their spaces, each breath and movement pressed and taken into the form of the other. Feeling his breath, feeling the thrum of life beneath his skin.

“Can I…” Achilles swallowed. Patroclus could feel the bump in his throat - moving up then down. “Could I touch you?”

“Where?”

“Where ever you would like me to.” He said, thumb rubbing at his palm. “I want to make you feel good, if that is what you still want.” It sent a spike through him, a heavy pleasure settling in the space between them. It wouldn’t take a lot. His heart was still heavy, still aching from his abated guilt. The idea that he’d hurt his friend irreparably, damaged the one good thing that he had in his life - his body yet thrummed with the feeling.

He looked up. “I don’t know. Its-” and Achilles already looked hurt. Already turning away. “No- no, no- here, look at me Achilles.” And when he didn’t, Patroclus held his body close. Warm palms against his. Fingers intertwined. “Achilles - I want this. I _want_ you.” The man huffed against him. “I need time. But please, take my word as true. I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“I wouldn’t want to push you again.” Murmured Achilles. “I just - I finished, and then you left. It wasn’t fair.”

“None of that now.” He turned his head. Placed a kiss on his pale cheek. “Not tonight. But,” and another kiss. “I did not say never. The answer is later.”

“Can I hold you then?”

That, he decided, would be more than alright.

*

They were asleep when Chiron arrived.

He hadn’t disturbed. Left them until the sun rose.

Patroclus could only speculate how much the centaur saw. Arms and legs tangled up, chests exposed. His eyes opened, blurring. Chiron stood near the the mouth of the cave, turned towards his pots and pans. He pulled up his robe - it had slipped down his waist in the night. A hand clenched at his shoulder, fingernails digging in.

“Don’t leave yet,” he grumbled, pressing closer. Chiron’s ears pricked - and he made no move to turn. The centaur could probably smell it on them, their scents intertwined and heavy on their skin. Gently, he squeezed his hand.

“Never,” and the promises were pressed. Like flowers, soft and unfurling in the rays of the sun. Against his neck, he said it again. “I’ll never leave you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading lovelies! If you want more, or have any requests - leave a kudos, pop down to the comments and let me know! More feedback makes it more likely I'll write more!
> 
> See ya'll next time!


End file.
